


Princess

by Iceaxx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Auto Correct, Dancing, Drunk!Derek, Drunkenness, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10889367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceaxx/pseuds/Iceaxx
Summary: So my friend Romi sent me this picture, and said it should totally be a Sterek fic. Then she said it should totally also have Drunk!Derek... So....   I'm trying :D  (but he's not the princess in this one Romi sorry lol)Hope you like it (and if I'm feeling generous I will be adding to it)Derek is a failwolf... but he's not actually a wolf(humanAU) and he gets drunk... and is so bad at technology.





	Princess

Even if they only knew him by name or face, there was one thing about Derek Hale the whole  
town, maybe even the whole county of Beacon Hills knew. And that was his inability to deny  
the women in his life anything they asked of him.  
  
It had been true about Mindi Petnick in preschool, when she had demanded Derek give her his  
Batman underwear, and he had treated the entire years 1 through 4 to a whole new meaning of  
full moon in his eagerness to comply.  
And then again first year of High School when Paige Krasikeva had pleaded with him to join  
the school orchestra, even though, much to his coach’s chagrin, it collided with Basketball  
practice.  
Derek would never be the next Beethoven, or Mozart, or even that weird gangly kid who always  
hung around outside police station playing his harmonica, but he played that Triangle with  
every fiber of his being. Until one day he caught Paige making out with the marching band’s  
snare drum player.  
Kate Argent came next; She was older, more mature, and her sharp tongue spun Derek so far  
into her web of lies and deceit that when he stood dumbfounded in the driveway at 3 AM,  
watching the police take her away in chains, the remains of his childhood home in flames at  
his back, Derek swore he would never again let himself be fooled by the charms of a woman.  
  
But just because Derek had given up on the idea of dating, didn’t necessarily mean that he  
was free from him compulsion to please, so when Laura had looked at him pleadingly, begging  
him to come out with her and Cora for her big THREE-OH, waving a bottle of vodka in his face,  
Derek had been unable to decline the request.  
  
And that is how Derek found himself more than just a little tipsy, dancing wildly with a  
whole pack of random half naked men and drag-queens. Sweat dripping off his forehead, while  
his sisters looked on from their booth, laughing and snapping pictures. He’d have to  
remember to destroy all the evidence when he sobered up some, but for the time being, Derek  
found himself too in the moment to worry about what sort of blackmail material his sisters  
might be compiling against him.  
  
He had just made his way off the dance floor, wiping the sweat off his brow as someone  
brushes past him, clearly in a rush.  
A flash of dotted pale skin, wild brown locks of hair, and a soft smell of almonds and honey  
that stands out in the stuffy atmosphere of sweat, alcohol and overly scented perfumes.  
Derek turns to call out for the man, but in his drunken haze, his movements are stunted and  
before he can even get a syllable out, the man has disappeared into the crowd.    
  
Derek finds himself pouting, before shaking it off and turning back around just as Laura and  
Cora crowds in front of him.  
  
“Did you see that? That kid totally just knocked me over, spilled my drink and  
everything!” Laura growls, wiping what smells to be a overly alcoholic cosmopolitan off her  
white, now stained red, dress.  
“What a completely dickbag. He literally just tackled me to the floor, and didn’t even  
help me up, or offer an apology” She continues, but Derek is too drunk to really be paying  
attention to her, or maybe too busy thinking about the mystery man with the sweet smell, so  
after a while he just softly pats his sister on the head, making a soothing shushing noise  
before turning around and making his way out of the club. Leaving a pissed off Laura and a  
slightly amused Cora behind.  
  
He makes it to the curb, trying to flag a taxi down, while he fumbles with his phone, trying  
to figure out if anyone made an app to identify people by their smell. But unfortunately for  
Derek, the alcohol has taken its toll and just as the taxi pulls up, and he grabs for the  
door handle, his phone slips from his hand and lands with a large splash into a puddle  
beneath him.  
Derek curses under his breath, quickly grabbing the phone and stumbling into the backseat of  
the taxi, rattling off the address to his loft before trying to dry his phone off with the  
sleeve of his henley.  
  
By the time the taxi pulls up to his building, the phone is a lost cause. It's still leaking  
water, and the screen is completely dead. He pays the cabby, tipping probably way too much by  
the enormous smile the middle aged man gives him before driving off, and makes his way  
inside.  
He probably stumbles a dozen times before he makes it up the 3 flights of stairs to his door,  
and he knows he’s gonna have bruised knees in the morning, but can’t find himself to care  
at the moment. The joys of alcohol induced numbness he snorts.  
  
He knows the smartest thing would be to pour himself a big glass of water, and that  
tomorrow's Derek would thank him for his foresight. But he is not tomorrow’s Derek, and so  
he makes a beeline for the bottle of whiskey in his desk, foregoing a glass, before settling  
on the sofa and turning on his stereo. Soon the room is filled with soft sounds of some  
power-ballad Derek can’t remember the name of, and he takes a swig of the Whiskey before  
opening the drawer under the coffee-table, and fumbling around for something.  
  
He comes up victorious a minute later, his old phone clutched in his grip. It’s a bit of a  
brick, and Derek giggles to himself when remembering how long it had taken Cora to teach him  
how to use his new one.  
The offending phone is laying on the table. Looking at it, you would never know of its  
treachery, and Derek frowns at it before having some more Whiskey.  
  
It takes him longer than he will ever admit to wrangle the SIM-card from his waterlogged  
traitorous phone, and into the old one, and even longer to plug the charger into the wall  
without falling off the sofa. But in the end he manages, and has his bottle wedged between  
his legs as he sits in an awkward lotus position, waiting for the phone to turn on.  
  
He groans when he realises he no longer has any phone numbers, and it takes him several  
minutes before he has successfully punched in Cora's number, the only one easy enough for  
Derek to remember by heart. He had never been good with numbers. He fumbles with the now  
unfamiliar keys as he writes out a short message, presses send and then drops the phone onto  
the sofa and draining the rest of the bottle in one big swig.  
  
A few minutes has passed, or it could have been hours, when his phone chimes.  
Derek fumbles for it, eyes half closed and the other half blurry from all the alcohol.  
He squints at the screen, refusing to sink as low as to grab his reading glasses, as he makes  
out the message;  
Unknown: Who is this?  
  
Derek is about to reply, telling Cora about his phone mishap when he realises that just  
because he doesn’t have any numbers anymore, Cora would still have his stored in her phone,  
and he reads over the number and groans. He’s accidentally mixed the last two digits, and  
instead of texting his sister, he has probably woken someone up in the middle of the night on  
a Wednesday. Because only crazy people like his sisters, and about the 70 other people at the  
club think drinking on a wednesday is the thing to do.  
He rubs his eyes and types out a short apology.  
  
To Unknown: Sorry wrong number  
  
Derek hopes the person he most likely had roused from sweet slumber didn’t have an early  
morning tomorrow, as he lays down, head on a ghastly rainbow colored pillow that Laura had  
gotten him as a gag gift for his birthday last year. She’ll never know that he secretly  
loves it, and it’s the most comfortable pillow in his entire home.  
  
A reply pings in less than a minute later, and Derek has to blink several times before  
confirming that the text actually says what he has thought.  
  
Unknown: Come back I’ll be your princess  
  
It reads, and Derek scoffs. Figures he’d accidentally text some crazy person, and he counts  
himself lucky that his phone number is unregistered and the person has no way of finding out  
who he is or where he lives. He is just about to put the phone down when he catches sight of  
the top of the message window. Oh crap. Because it turns out that crazy phone chick, or CPD  
as Derek has so eloquently named said person in his head, might not be crazy at all.  
Because as it turns out, not only has Derek sent Coras text to some random stranger, but he  
has also managed to have some sort of either brain malfunction or auto-correct incident,  
though at the moment Derek is pretty sure he only has himself to blame, and start the  
conversation with only one word…  
  
“Princess”  
  
Derek rolls his eyes at himself, and then thanks the higher powers for not letting him send  
that message to Cora. He would’ve never been able to live that one down, and for years to  
come he would have had to endure pink princess themed presents for every Christmas, Birthday  
or other special occasion. He yawns loudly as he types out a reply to  
Maybe-Not-So-Crazy-Phone-Chick and curls the pillow under his head before settling to wait  
for a new message.  
  
  
  
..  
  
Derek wakes in the morning by rays of sunshine stabbing him through his closed eyelids, and  
he groans, turning around and pressing his face against the sofa back.  
His stomach churns and he knows he’s going to have to get up for some black coffee and  
aspirin soon, before his insides revolts and he will be left spending the day with his head  
in the toilet. So he untangles himself from the blanket he must have wrapped himself in at  
some point during the night, and makes his way to the kitchen, popping two aspirin and  
downing a glass of water before he turns the coffee-maker on and drags himself to the shower  
to wash away the smell of stale alcohol while it brews.  
  
20 minutes later finds a clean and much more refreshed Derek settling back down on the sofa,  
hands around a steaming mug of coffee, as he picks up the phone from between two cushions. He  
opens his recent messages and finds one from each of his sisters, wondering how his head was  
feeling, and one request to meet for lunch the next day from whom he assumed to be his  
mother. He then reaches the 4th message, and find himself chuckling into his coffee as the  
memories of his text adventure comes back to him.  
  
  
  
In reality, if a woman had confessed her love for Derek, he would be running the other way.  
But that didn’t seem to be the case for Drunk Derek whom had seemed all too eager to  
confess his love right back at the stranger, and somehow even in the light of day, his  
alcohol induced bravery from the evening before seemed to have stuck, and Derek can’t stop  
himself before he has typed out a message and hit send.  
  
To Princess: I don’t know of which kingdom you reign Princess, but if it is anywhere in the  
realm of California, I would be honored if you would allow this humble peasant to treat you  
to Lunch as a sign of my immense gratitude.  
  
He cringes when he reads it over.  
Hopefully his new friend would find it amusing instead of how insanely dorky it sounds, and  
Derek groans as he drinks the last of his now lukewarm coffee.  
But still in his gut, Derek has a feeling that this might just be the turn of events his life  
has been needing.  
  



End file.
